


Hold Your Breath

by musicprincess1990



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Conflict Resolution, Established Relationship, F/M, Injured Molly, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicprincess1990/pseuds/musicprincess1990
Summary: "Since Sherrinford, he had allowed himself to be more open with his feelings, and more sensitive to the feelings of those around him. Quite often, he found himself overwhelmed by the waves of emotion. This was certainly one of those times." Dedicated to the-julienne-ihnat, my 300th follower on Tumblr! Thank you so much!





	Hold Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics taken from "Fall For You" by Secondhand Serenade.

>   _The best thing ‘bout tonight’s that we’re not fighting._  
>  _Could it be that we had been this way before?_  
>  _I know you don’t think that I am trying;  
>  _ _I know you’re wearing thin down to the core,  
>  _ _But hold your breath…_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes burst through the doors of Bart’s hospital at top speed. This fact was hardly out of the ordinary, nor would it come at any surprise that he was there to see the lead pathologist, Molly Hooper. The two had maintained a steady professional relationship for close to ten years, and for the last two years, that relationship had progressed to a romantic level. And because Sherlock Holmes did everything with a touch of drama (sometimes a bit more than a touch), the sight of him bursting in could very well have been dismissed as an ordinary occurrence.

But there was nothing ordinary about today.

Not far behind, Dr. John Watson, his best friend and partner in crime-solving, jogged to keep up with the taller man’s long strides. He wisely made no comment, choosing to follow in silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained focused ahead of him, paying no mind to the nurses and patients who darted out of his way. If they protested, he didn’t hear. He continued on his path, not stopping until he reached his destination: Intensive Care.

“Where is she?” he demanded, his voice low and rasped.

The woman seated behind the desk, easily recognizing his face and knowing precisely who he meant, provided the requested location and pointed the way. He immediately took off for said location, vaguely aware that John had paused to offer his gratitude to the employee. Sherlock moved swiftly in the indicated direction, and paused outside of Room 11. His eyes flicked over the nameplate by the door, confirming he was in the right place, then he slowly entered the room.

Sherlock sucked in a breath, grinding to a halt mid-step. John, who had finally caught up to him, stumbled into the frozen detective, but he barely noticed. All his attention was bent on the figure lying in the bed before him.

She appeared to be asleep, and he noted with some relief that she was breathing on her own. But the relief stopped there. Her face was covered in scrapes and scratches, as was her right arm. Her left was wrapped in a sling, likely due to a broken or fractured collarbone. The obvious difference in size between her left and right legs told him the left was also broken, and wrapped in plaster. A large bump had formed on the right side of her head, where her head had collided with something, probably the window, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a concussion.

It was fortunate, in a way, that the drunk driver responsible for this damage had been killed in the accident. If not, he might have murdered the imbecile for his stupidity.

“Sherlock,” John whispered from somewhere to his left, “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

“Thank you,” he whispered back, turning to face his friend. “Really.”

John smiled sadly, glancing at Molly for a moment, then left the room, closing the door behind him. Sherlock pulled a chair over to her bedside, and sat quietly for some time. He observed her every breath, memorized and cataloged every scrape and bruise, determining the severity of each one. Then, he just… stared at her.

Since Sherrinford, he had allowed himself to be more open with his feelings, and more sensitive to the feelings of those around him. Quite often, he found himself overwhelmed by the waves of emotion. This was certainly one of those times. Tears pooled in his eyes, and he drew a shuddering breath, the magnitude of this event washing over him. _Thank God_ , he repeated in his mind, over and over. He may be dismissive of religion, but he had never been more prone to believe in a higher power. For though Molly was broken, at least she was still alive.

He would never have forgiven himself if she hadn’t survived.

Things with Molly had been… strained, for the past several months. They fought a great deal, and in general spent very little time together. Sherlock took to spending the nights he actually slept at Baker Street, and only went to Molly’s flat if she asked him. They saw each other regularly at Bart’s, and he always greeted her and departed with a kiss. But they had grown cold, stale, and perfunctory.

Earlier that day, he had approached Molly about the situation, which had led to their most explosive argument thus far. She accused him of not trying hard enough in their relationship. He retaliated with some very unpleasant deductions about her desire for marriage, which he quickly pushed out of his mind. By the end, she was in tears, and he was packing the few belongings of his that remained in her flat. He’d taken a rather mundane case from Lestrade in order to distract himself, only to receive a phone call, hours later, from the hospital. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t had the time to remove him from her emergency contacts.

Sherlock snapped back into full awareness as Molly began to stir. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes trained on hers. She inhaled deeply, and her eyes fluttered open, resting on him. She seemed a bit foggy, likely due to the concussion, but otherwise coherent. And not entirely happy to see him.

“Hello, Sherlock,” she breathed.

He heaved a sigh, the tears finally pushing their way out. “Molly… I…” the words got stuck in his throat as his emotions overtook him. Molly watched him silently for a moment, before opening her arms—well, _arm_ , that is—in an obvious invitation. Sherlock didn’t need any further encouragement, and carefully eased himself beside her and into her embrace. For a few minutes, he let himself simply cry, not caring if he seemed weak or “unmanly.” Who the bloody hell cared about “manliness” anyway? All he cared about was _her_.

When he had regained his composure, he sighed again. “Molly, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sherlock.”

“No, it’s not,” he shook his head emphatically, sitting up so that he could look at her. “It’s never okay for me to make you feel unappreciated or unwanted. Particularly when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

She swallowed, averting her eyes. “I know. I suppose I just… forgot. I forgot that you don’t do or say things the way everyone else does. I forgot that… you’re still learning.” Molly smiled softly up at him. “I guess I’m learning, too. I’m learning how to be in a relationship with the smartest idiot there is.”

He chuckled under his breath. “As accurate a description of myself as I’ve ever heard.”

Molly squeezed his hand. “It really is okay,” she said firmly. “I don’t need or want you to be like everybody else. I’m quite happy with _you_.”

“Are you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

She nodded once. “I love you, Sherlock. I always have. And I fell in love with you just as you are.” She breathed in and out sharply. “And if that means making a few compromises… well, it’s worth it, as long as I have you in my life.”

Sherlock gave her a long look, his mind awhirl at her declaration. His first thought was a reaffirmation of how deeply he loved this woman, so small and soft, yet also strong and fierce. As his mind raced on, however, he made a difficult realization: Molly was giving up _too much_ for him. Though she dreamed of marriage, and longed for a family of her own, she was willing to forego that dream, or at least set it on a back burner, in order to make him happy.

Suddenly, he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. How many things had Molly given up for his sake? Perhaps he was still learning how to navigate a relationship, but novice or no, he felt quite confident that compromise required _two_ parties making sacrifices, not just one.

His thoughts took a brief detour into the realm of fantasy. In his mind’s eye, he saw Molly making her way slowly toward him, a vision in white. Then he saw her again, her belly swollen and her eyes bright. And yet again, holding a newborn child in her arms, smiling through joyful tears.

Each of these small glimpses into a possible future left Sherlock nearly breathless with longing, to the point where he clean forgot why he’d been so against it. Where, in each of these scenarios, was there anything undesirable? He loved Molly, and had no inclination to be with anyone else. Even the Woman, with all her flirtations and experience, could never hold a candle to Molly’s sweetness, her goodness. As for the possibility of children, a younger Sherlock might have sneered at the idea, but with the addition of Rosie into their lives, he’d lost his aversion to them. To have one of his own… not just his, but Molly’s as well… presented a surprisingly enticing picture.

“Sherlock?”

He started out of his thoughts, locking eyes with a concerned Molly. “I… forgive me.”

A tiny smile curled the corners of her lips. “Had some thinking to do, did you?”

He grinned at her. “You know me so well.”

“I do,” she nodded. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” he answered easily.

She blinked in surprise. “Oh?” she asked softly, her smile growing. “What about me?”

“That you were right,” he shrugged. “I’m not giving as much as I should. And… perhaps… the idea of making certain compromises is becoming more appealing.”

All traces of her smile had vanished. “What compromises do you mean?”

“Marriage, for one.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

“Quite serious. And quite eager,” he added, his eyes boring into hers.

She took a deep breath and licked her lips. “So… is this you proposing?”

“Good Lord, no,” he frowned in distaste. “I’d like to think I have more taste than to ask for your hand in marriage whilst you’re in _hospital_. No, no, when I propose, it’ll be nothing short of perfect.” He gave her a boyish grin, which soon dissolved into something softer, almost reverent. “You deserve it.”

Her eyes grew wet with tears, and she beamed. “ _When_ you propose?”

“When,” he confirmed.

“Damn it, Sherlock,” she cursed with a watery laugh. “Did you have to be all sweet and lovely when I’m in too much pain to do anything about it?"

Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk, despite his concern for her pain. He leaned in cautiously, hovering just over her lips, watching her pupils dilate with satisfaction. It was a sight he hadn’t seen for some time, and it thrilled him that he could still have such an effect on her. Only fair, after all, considering the effect _she_ had on _him_.

“When you’re healed,” he purred, his lips brushing hers oh, so softly as he spoke, “we’ll have to make up for lost time.”

“Six months of lost time,” she whispered with regret.

“And a lifetime to remedy it,” he reminded her.

“God, I love you, Sherlock.” Molly reached up with her good hand and pulled him down for a kiss. It held all the passion and intensity of their first kiss, not long after Sherrinford, but also a tenderness that left Sherlock aching for their wedding day. It surprised him, this sudden desire for marriage, but it also felt _right_. He was hers, and perfectly happy to be so.

Sherlock became aware of the placement of his hands on her waist when she winced in pain. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be,” she shook her head. “I’m a bit sore for now, but… I’m happy.”

He sighed in relief, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he murmured. “Never doubt that.”

“I won’t, but it’s nice to hear all the same.”

“Hmm,” he pretended to be lost in thought. “Perhaps I ought to say it more often.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, smothering a quiet giggle. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good. Because it’s true, you know.” He met her eyes, giving her a meaningful gaze. “It’s always been true. And always will be.”

Molly smiled at him, but her eyes drooped as she did so. Sherlock kissed her again, softly, briefly, then settled onto the bed beside her. “Rest,” he ordered gently, putting his arms around her, taking care not to bump any of her injuries. “Sleep is the best medicine, or so I’m told.”

“I thought it was laughter,” she yawned, leaning against him.

“That too,” he allowed.

Molly hummed quietly, her face pressed into his chest. “You know, you don’t have to stay. I know you probably have cases to look at.”

“Most likely,” he agreed, “but they can wait.” Sherlock brushed a stray tendril of hair from her face as her breaths grew slower and deeper. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

* * *

 

> _...Because tonight will be the night_  
>  _That I will fall for you over again._  
>  _Don’t make me change my mind,_  
>  _Or I won’t live to see another day,_  
>  _I swear it’s true,  
>  _ _Because a girl like you is impossible to find.  
>  _ _You’re impossible to find._


End file.
